


Amputare

by White Aster (white_aster)



Series: Amputare [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XII, Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Amputation, Community: no_true_pair, Crossover, Gen, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-08
Updated: 2008-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You saved my life."</p><p>Kimberly tilted a hand dismissively.  "Equivalent exchange, soldier.  It is not every man who would put his life on the line for duty.  Yet you were ordered to defend me, and defend me you did.  I admire those who stay true to their duty."</p><p>Basch flushed again, out of a different type of embarrassment this time.  "I was only doing my job, sir."</p><p>"Exactly," Kimberly said, sounding oddly satisfied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amputare

_Amputare: Latin, "to cut away"_

 

* * *

 

Basch didn't see the Archadian coming until it was nearly too late.

The man had slipped in between two of the Captain's guard, who saw him but had their hands full dealing with the axeman's four friends. Basch was off to the side, and he blocked, slashed, cut, turned, and saw the Archadian slipping between two of the Flames. The man knew what he was about, spearing right towards the Captain while the Captain's attention was on casting one of his fearsome spells.

Basch did not hesitate.

Three lunged steps on the blood-slick ground brought him barely in range, and he raised his sword to try to deflect the axe-strike.

He slipped, ankle twisting in the mud, his sword deflecting the blow closer to his own body in his attempt to keep it from the Captain's head.

So sharp was the blade, and such was the adrenaline rushing through his veins that Basch didn't even feel it when the axe took off his arm.

Then a long hand reached out, shoving the axeman to the side. The man screamed and disintegrated with a wet popping sound and a wash of meat-scented heat.

Basch found himself staring at the ground, wondering why his sword was lying in the mud. There was shouting somewhere about, but it sounded very far away and unimportant. A chill raced up his right arm, and he blinked back the shadows starting to crowd his vision.

The long hands were back, curving hot along the coldest part of his arm, right above the elbow. The murmured "Sorry about this" barely registered over the curiously loud rushing of blood. Basch looked up to catch a glimpse of Captain Kimberly's eyes, cold as chilled gold in the lightning-white whipcrack of his spell-light. And then Basch's arm was on fire, perhaps literally, and the pain hit him like a punch to the gut.

The shadows rolled over him, and Basch fell.

\---------------------

He awoke in the battlefield hospital with his head fuzzy with pain and the wool-stuffed feel of drugging herbs. Noah was there by the side of his cot, eyes tired and red. Basch didn't fully remember what was going on until he tried to push himself further up on the mattress with a hand that was no longer there.

Basch knew that he should be feeling something more. He suspected that it was the herbs and the shock that were keeping the feelings away as he awkwardly reassured Noah that everything would be fine, that he was alive and well. Noah nodded, gripping Basch's good hand. They had lost family too much to not rejoice at the gift of being alive.

\-----------------------

It was not until the healers took him off their herbal concoction, though, that Basch fully comprehended his situation. There would be no more fighting for him. He had lost his dominant hand and his sword arm from the elbow down. The healers shook their heads, hmphing over the burns that had cauterized the wound.

Noah's hand clenched. "The barbarian bastard, mutilating you like that. Had he not laid his devil's hands on you, your arm could have been restored."

"We do not know that," Basch said, feeling a headache growing behind his eyes. His brother's indignation had far outlasted his own. "The healers could not say."

"It is simple common sense! And I trust not these Lea Monde mercenaries, no matter what the high command says. They are all but Archadian themselves. I wouldn't put it past him to have done this _deliberately_\--"

"_Noah,_" Basch hissed, kicking at Noah's leg from the cot, for a familiar blue-cloaked figure walked down the rows of cots, unarmed and wolf-eyed.

Noah turned, eyes darkening at the Crimson Flames' captain's approach. He bit back what he was going to say with obvious effort, rising not in deference to the man's rank, but so he could pointedly turn his back and stalk away.

Captain Kimberly did not appear fazed, turning out of the way of Noah's shoulder as he passed. Glancing back at Basch, he asked, "Family?"

"My brother," Basch said, feeling acutely uncomfortable for several reasons, not the least of which was that he couldn't stand for a proper salute without the healers descending on him in a rage. He settled for a sitting one, left-handed, fist over heart. "Sir."

"A remarkable resemblance." Kimberly returned Basch's salute with the odd hand-to forehead gesture his company favored. His mouth quirked, softening his next words. "I hope that you do not share his suspicions."

Basch flushed. "You heard him."

"He was quite...emphatic. From across the room, even."

Basch had never, in their sixteen years of life, wanted so badly to murder his brother. "I apologize, sir. Noah is...upset by my injury. He means no disrespect--"

The captain raised a hand, chuckling. "Peace. I am not offended. His concern is understandable. I did, after all, finish the job of destroying your arm."

Basch's right hand, ghostly though it was, twitched at those words.

Kimberly's eyes met his. "I hope, though, that you understand why I did it."

Basch could see the battlefield behind his eyelids, bright as day. Yes, he knew why. He felt his ghost hand unclench, slowly. "I know we were rather far from any white mages. You couldn't drop your own defense to stop the bleeding, and even had you gone looking for a healer, I would probably have bled to death before you returned." He opened his eyes, hoping that they were as calm as Kimberly's. "I understand, sir. I am grateful. You saved my life."

Kimberly tilted a hand dismissively. "Equivalent exchange, soldier. It is not every man who would put his life on the line for duty. Yet you were ordered to defend me, and defend me you did. I admire those who stay true to their duty."

Basch flushed again, out of a different type of embarrassment this time. "I was only doing my job, sir."

"Exactly," Kimberly said, sounding oddly satisfied.

\-----------------------

It might have ended there, if there hadn't been one of the Flames' mages recovering in the bed next to Basch's. His name was Alphonse, and he was practically the opposite of what Basch would have expected of a mercenary: friendly, inquisitive, and perhaps the nicest person that Basch had ever met. He'd struck up a cheerful conversation as soon as he realized that Basch was awake and aware, and the two of them had become fast friends.

"Is that your brother that comes to visit you?"

Basch nodded. "My twin, Noah."

"Wow, twins. No wonder he looks so much like you." Alphonse chewed thoughtfully on the bread that came with their lunch. "I have a brother, too. I'll have to introduce you. I'm sure he'll come by soon." Alphonse leaned across the space between their cots, mock-conspiratorially. "He's a big motherhen. I think he blames himself for my leg, even though it wasn't his fault. We were fighting together, and he got pushed back into me, and I tripped over his leg, and we fell and were both out of magic, so it started to set wrong and...well...." He gestured down at his splinted leg with the remains of his roll.

Basch nodded, carefully spooning up his own soup left-handed. "I think...I think that Noah blames himself in something of the same way."

"Why? Was he there or something?"

"No." Basch looked down at his tray. "I think that that's the problem."

Alphonse sighed in understanding, shaking his head. "Brothers."

Basch chuckled, and they ate for several minutes in commisserating silence. "Still, I enjoy it when he comes. I am bored nearly to d--to tears here."

Alphonse nodded. "I know what you mean. My brother brings books every now and then, but I can't exactly practice in here." He grinned, wiggling his fingers at one of the more obnoxious of the healers.

Basch snickered. "I'd almost like to see that." He looked dubiously at the vegetables on his plate, trying to place exactly what plant they had come from. "Still...at least you've something to do, even if it is just reading."

"I could lend you a book or two? I go through them quickly. Er...they're all on magic, though. You don't strike me as much of a mage."

Basch smiled wryly. "Not even a bit."

Alphonse's eyes widened. "Nothing at all?"

Basch shook his head, and Alphonse mirrored the gesture. "Wow. That...that's just not common in Lea Monde. Magic is part of our blood. Nearly everyone can do _something_."

It sounded like total chaos, but Basch wasn't about to say so to Alphonse. "Well, Landis has white mages, of course, and the support mages that deal with palings and such. We just...it's not really a battle skill like you tend to use it." Basch shrugged a bit uncomfortably, wondering how to say it without giving offense. "Landissers pride themselves on independence, and mages...they are often vulnerable unless they have guardians. Even your captain...he came within a hand's breadth of death in that last battle, but for my sword between him and danger. Er...not to boast, of course, but that was the truth of it."

Alphonse shrugged one shoulder. "Well, that's true, but that's why you _protect_ the mages. And teach them how to fight a bit, so when the lines break down, they can take care of themselves." He looked down at his leg and shrugged again, grinning wryly. "Not that it always works, mind you." He waved his spoon at Basch. "But anyway. That's right. _You're_ the guy that saved the captain. Well, then, I am _definitely_ going to have to teach you _something_, then. Maybe a cure spell?"

Basch blinked at him, then couldn't help laughing. "Fine, fine. You are welcome to try."

\-----------------------

Much to Basch's surprise, Alphonse did better than try. He was a rather good teacher, starting with the basics of magic: the Seven Laws and the technique of the mage's focus. Basch further surprised himself by being able to understand the former and being not all that bad at the latter. By the time that they were both discharged from the hospital a week later, Basch could cast the most rudimentary of healing spells.

This came in useful when there was mention of sending him home with the rest of the wounded.

It caught him unawares. He'd not thought of what would happen after the healers let him go. Perhaps he'd deliberately not thought of it, because it did, after all, make perfect sense.

It also made a sharp knot of panic tighten in his gut. After all, where else, exactly, would he go? To his mother's house like an invalid child? To friends and family that would be all too willing to help the poor crippled fon Ronsenburg boy while his brother is off at war? To sitting and waiting, every day, for news of the front, for news of his brother, for news of Landis' fate and his own?

No. Gods, no. He might be clumsy here and slow at everyday tasks, but _that_...that would be true helplessness. And that he would not abide.

And so Basch approached the head healer, a harried, no-nonsense woman who looked him up and down and asked him bluntly what he could do. Basch flushed, stammered, and then admitted that his meager Cure was as much as he had learned. She demanded that he show her. He did. She asked how long it had taken him to learn that. He'd told her a week. Her eyebrows had risen into her gray hair, and she'd said he could stay, provided he spent some more time learning advanced white magic in his off hours and didn't get in the way.

It was not a perfect arrangement. Basch _was_ slow and clumsy, which earned him more than his share of annoyed looks from healers and soldiers alike, though he got better as the weeks went on. And though rolling bandages, administering potions and medicines, and whispering his one cure spell over and over was not how he'd expected to serve this campaign, it was...better than the alternative. He was working, being useful, and if he felt as if more than his arm had been left bleeding on the battlefield, well...he tried not to think overmuch on it.

One thing Basch had not expected, though, was the lack of support from his fellow soldiers. He was, officially, honorably discharged due to his injury. However, his decision to stay on the front bewildered some and made many others uncomfortable, for reasons that Basch both could and could not fathom. His...disfigurement was not common, as most such wounds led to either a quick death or a quicker healing. He drew eyes whenever he walked about town or camp without a cloak. Those who did not know him looked upon him with pity or embarrassment. Even old friends seemed not to know how to treat him. He was soldier, but not. Healer, but not. Basch...but not.

It was even worse when Basch saw that pity and embarrassment in Noah's eyes, augmented by that misplaced guilt that Basch could not banish. Noah urged him to return home. Basch refused. They argued about it, on occasion, and the distance between them grew.

\-----------------------

Oddly enough, the one time that Basch actually felt he could relax was when he hiked to the Crimson Flames' camp outside of town. For some reason, his lost arm raised no eyebrows there, even...or perhaps particularly...from the Elric brothers.

"Basch? Are you all right?"

Basch realized that he'd been staring at the same page for at least a half an hour. He rubbed his eyes. "Yes, I'm well." He blew out a breath and glared at "Advanced Curative Magicks, Ed. 3". "Merely...frustrated."

Alphonse made a sympathetic noise, setting down the gauntlets he'd been enchanting. "Still giving you trouble? Don't worry, it'll come. You were making real progress on that Curaja last week."

Basch's mouth crooked. Alphonse was kind, but Basch thought that "managed it half-arsed a week ago and have been unable to do so again since" hardly qualified as "real progress". "I just don't understand it. I had no problem with the lower-level spells, but this...." He sighed, running his hand through his hair and nodding to Edward as he entered the tent. "It feels the same, yet not, and the difference is stymieing me, somehow. It feels like a wall I cannot climb."

"Maybe you just need a break?" Alphonse suggested. "You've been going at it all morning."

Edward's eyes flicked between them as he tore himself some bread off the loaf. "Maybe you should just try something _else_." He shrugged, as Basch turned to look at him. "Works for me: lightning giving me trouble, work with fire for awhile.... Try some black or green magic or something. Hell, if you want to learn black...." He gestured to himself with his bread before bolting it down and going back for more.

"Healing's not quite the same, brother," Alphonse said. "Black magic can disrupt your concentration sometimes."

Edward shrugged again, chewing. "Whatever. You know where to find me."

Edward had been on the front that day, or near it. Basch could tell by the ash-and-metal scent that clung to him. Basch swallowed hard against the way that scent squeezed his chest in something that was not fear. He felt his missing right hand clench. "I...I would like that. Thank you."

Edward grinned. "Save your thanks for later. I'm a terrible teacher. Just ask Al."

Alphonse made a face but didn't contradict him, and Edward grinned wider, and Basch chuckled, the tightness in his chest loosening just a tiny bit.

\-----------------------

Edward taught him Fire on a rainy afternoon, in a section of the Flames' camp carefully cleared for the mages' use.

The fire came at Basch's call like a friendly hound, or the lover that he'd never had. Control came slowly, but generating the sheer, destructive power that black magic demanded was surprisingly easy. Easy enough to raise Edward's eyebrows and earn Basch an impressed "...good!"

So very easy, in fact, that Basch found himself lying awake in the night, wondering exactly what he was doing with himself. He was a rather pathetic, crippled healer who was learning black magic in his spare time and was, on the whole, starting to feel more at home with the Lea Monde mercenaries than he did with his own countrymen. He enjoyed learning the magic, that was certain. It gave him something to do, and he was thankful that Edward was more than happy to teach him, but Basch couldn't help but feel that it was a false sense of utility. The Landisser warrior-mages were ancient history, and even had they been not...Basch still doubted that they would have encouraged one-armed men to join.

Still, even though it might net him nothing in the end, Basch honed his skills. The Flames' mages grew used to him stationing himself in the far corner of the practice ground, and even came over to talk now and then: to introduce themselves, to satisfy their curiousity, or to give a suggestion. Basch got the feeling that he'd impressed them somehow.

Edward just shrugged when he askedabout it. "We've gotten the impression that the Landissers don't like magic. They treat us like loaded guns." He eyed the tree smoldering tree stump they were using for Thunder (or, in Edward's case, Thundaga) target practice. "The Captain suggested that we do some teaching, right when the Landissers first hired us for the long term. You know, get a black magic unit trained up and licensed and ready to go." Edward's grin was sharp. "So they wouldn't spread _us_ so thin, of course." He shrugged. "But the Republic high command looked at him like he'd suggested sacrificing puppies and small children to the Dark. All right, try it again. No, no...without looking."

Basch grimaced, but obediently kept his eyes on Edward's face. "Slave driver. Are you sure that's wise? I would hate to hit anyone."

Edward rolled his eyes. "Basch, no one here's going to die from your Thunder spell, I promise. You've got to try it sometime. Thunder's a snap element. Either it goes, like _that_" he snapped his fingers, "or it doesn't, whether you can see the target or not. Thinking about it doesn't help anything, just DO it!"

Basch blew out a breath and called the lightning.

Later, after Edward had left him to reduce the tree stump to an ashy smear on the ground, Basch blinked up out of his concentration to find the sun staining the horizon red and the Captain of the Flames leaning against a nearby tree, watching him. "Sir!" Basch checked his instinct just in time to prevent himself from trying to salute with half an arm.

Kimberly pushed away from the tree. "At ease. I didn't mean to interrupt your concentration."

"Not at all, sir. I was just about to stop." Basch swallowed, suddenly unsure. Something about the man's easy grace, his calm assurance, made Basch feel awkward. He was suddenly, irrationally grateful that the day's fall chill had allowed him to wear a cloak to mask his missing arm.

Kimberly regarded the smoldering tree stump's remains with what looked like approval. "I'd heard that the Elrics were teaching you magic, but I didn't know your studies had progressed so far so quickly."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." It occurred to Basch that maybe the Elrics' commander might frown upon them teaching a stranger...a _civilian stranger_...valuable magicks. "I...hope that I've not been a bother, sir. I've always tried to not distract anyone from their duties."

Kimberly waved a hand negligently, that half-smile quirking his lips. "Relax, soldier. I'm not here to dress you down. I'm here to offer you a job."

Basch just stared for a moment. Then ran the Captain's words through his mind again. Surely he'd heard wrong. "...sir?"

"A three year contract, to be precise, with the Flames' magecorps infantry. It's our most valuable and versatile unit, skilled with both sword and spell. Your friend Edward's unit, in fact. High risk, of course, as the magecorps is best utilized on the front lines, but also at the top of the pay scale."

"...ah," was all that Basch could manage.

"You'd likely spend the first six months learning and pulling support duty." Kimberly gestured to the practice field, but Basch mind was so frozen that he couldn't look away from the Captain's face. "You've got natural talent, and you've done well with it on your own, but we can hone you to a finer edge than this. I would be interested to see what you can do with a paling casting, though I've a suspicion that you'll find your talents with green magic as limited as with white."

Basch's mind caught up to that, at least, his pride stung. "How do you kn--"

Kimberly's smile turned positively catlike. "Really, fon Ronsenburg, do I look like someone who would offer a man work without asking around first?"

"No...sir...but...."

"Yes?"

"My _arm_, sir." The words felt like hot lead in Basch's throat. Surely there was something he was missing. Kimberly was no fool, and odd as the man could be.... Surely he would not _taunt_ him with this.

"Ah, yes, your arm." Kimberly made a sweeping gesture back towards camp, as the setting sun bathed the field in orange fire. "If you'll come with me, I believe you know someone who will be able to answer that question...and show you what a significant amount of three years' work will pay for."

\-----------------------

Basch found himself following Kimberly along a very familiar route.

Alphonse looked earnest, as he laid his bare left arm on the desk. The limb made a slight metallic clank as it settled. "It's...it's not that we were hiding it. It's just...the Landissers seemed so magic-shy, and automail's not magic, but it's not really _not_, either, so...." He looked at Basch's right side, then up at Basch's face. "And with your arm...well, we didn't want to be cruel."

"It's all right. I understand." Basch traced his fingers in the air over Alphonse's arm. The metal was so heavily inscribed that it made every bit of magicked equipment that Basch had ever seen look plain by comparison. "It...forgive me, but it _works_?"

"Oh, yes! Good as the original, really, and a bit stronger." Alphonse turned his arm palm up, wiggling the fingers. "You've seen me using it, after all." Indeed, Basch thought. Everything from cutting bread to mending his trousers. Basch thought himself a fool for never having noticed, though he did remember how odd it was that Alphonse had always worn long sleeves and gloves, even in the hottest weather. He'd merely thought the man thin-blooded.

"Amazing. Why have I never seen something so useful? I assume that it is difficult to produce or somesuch? It..." Basch frowned at the runes, not recognizing any of them. "It isn't some Dark sorcery, is it?"

Edward snorted from the side, and Kimberly coughed from the other chair. "Automail's development has been exclusive to Lea Monde. The University there is one of the last places with enough Kildean scholars to even attempt such a construct."

Basch had heard of the place, and not in particularly flattering terms. "...so it _is_ Dark sorcery."

Kimberly turned a hand up in a shrug. "Many times removed, but yes, the automail's magicks are based on knowledge of the Dark. It is required to bind the metal to the will of the wielder. However, the effect is perfectly contained, and I assure you, there is no transfer of souls or bloody signatures required."

Alphonse's expression was so pained that Basch had to reassure him. He laid his hand on the metal of Alphonse's arm. It felt slightly warm, heavy and mundane, and not particularly evil. "It's all right. I am learning that many things regarding magic are not exactly as I was taught."

The chair creaked as Kimberly stood and nodded to Basch. "I will leave you to think on this, then. I will stop by later in the evening, should any other questions come to mind. Lacking that, you know where to find me, I trust?"

Basch nodded. "Thank you, sir."

After the Captain left, the tentflap falling closed behind him, Basch turned and was faced with two nearly identical grins. "He's trying to recruit you, isn't he?" Edward asked. "I swear, the man picks up people like lost chickabos."

Basch chuckled. His eyes were drawn to Alphonse's arm again, now bent to prop up his chin. "This is all so sudden. I...don't want to make the wrong decision."

Edward shrugged. "Seems pretty straightforward to me. You work with us, you get your arm back, get to fight again, get to learn more magic.... We're the best there is, really. The Captain went through the University like it was wet tissue paper. He's one of the best battle mages around, and he's not stingy about teaching, either. You could learn a lot."

Basch remembered the pillars of fire spilling from those tattooed hands, how a mere touch would send an enemy reeling, a living bomb sent to explode among his fellows. Basch had since tried to fathom what combination of magicks produced the effect and had failed. "I don't doubt it. All that you've mentioned is certainly a temptation, I just...." Basch sighed. "Landis is my home. The Crimson Flames fight now for Landis, but I doubt that that will last three years. To wield blade and fire for another...for whoever will pay.... I have to think on this."

Alphonse made a sympathetic noise. "It's understandable. For what it's worth, I've heard that we're probably going to be spending another year in Landis, but you're right. This war can't last forever, and when it's over, we'll move on." He smiled, sheepishly. "I have to admit, I kind of like the idea of you coming with us, though."

Basch smiled, just a bit worried that he was warming to the idea, too.

\-----------------------

True to his word, Kimberly returned later that night. They walked slowly towards the Landisser encampment, winding between rows of tents and around campfires. The camp murmured around them, a laugh here, a snatch of drunken song there, but mostly the sound of the mercenaries bedding down for the night. It was mostly quiet, peaceful, and somehow intimate.

The first question that tumbled from Basch's lips was, "Why, sir? Why me?"

Kimberly chuckled, the sound surprisingly warm in the firelit dark. "As I said before, I admire those who stay true to their duty, not just to their employers, but to themselves." He stopped, in the lane between tents, head tilted back to look up at the moon thoughtfully. "When I first saw you fight, I thought that you were in your element. You were, simply and perfectly, a soldier. One who follows orders. One who comes alive in battle. And you were good at it, even going so far as to risk your life to follow those orders, to test your blade against those who would defy you and your allies." He tilted his head to look at Basch, as if for confirmation.

Basch nodded, slowly. It was a bit more grandiose than he'd ever thought of himself, but it was true enough.

Kimberly turned to face Basch. "And when you lost your arm, lost the ability to wield a blade, still you stayed. You took up what tasks you could, even though they were strange to you and others derided you for it. And you found your way to black magic. Why?"

Basch wanted to look away, uncomfortable, but Kimberly genuinely seemed to want an answer. "Because...I wanted to feel useful, I suppose."

"Useful to whom? Your people see black magic as frivolous. Learning it would gain you nothing in their eyes."

Basch felt his right hand flex and itch. "...To myself, then."

"And it satisfied you? Gave you a sense of accomplishment, where nothing else would?"

"Yes...yes." Basch closed his eyes, ashamed though he knew not why.

Kimberly's voice was low. Close. Close enough to lay a hand on Basch's shoulder, to squeeze. "Do you know why, Basch? Do you know why you knew, instinctively, how your time was best spent? Where your magical talents truly lay?"

Basch swallowed, unsure that he could form words past the tangle of emotions in his throat.

Kimberly did not need a reply, this time. "You are a soldier. It is in your nature. And despite what your people have taught you, you recognized a worthy weapon when it was presented to you. Especially," fingers tapped Basch's right bicep lightly, "when you'd lost your own."

Basch breathed through the prickle of heat behind his eyelids. He felt as if his soul was laid bare...and yet it was a relief, also. When he looked up, Kimberly's eyes were barely visible in the banked firelight, keen and focussed, and for the first time ever, Basch felt like someone was looking at him. Not at Noah's brother, or Mathis' son, or a Landisser private, or a stranger, or a cripple, but at _him_. Looking at him and finding him good. Finding him _worthy_.

"Your instincts are a soldier's instincts. They will only get better with experience, and I want them at _my_ side. I want to see how far you might fly. And that is the only reason I need."

It was like the rush of magic, like steel girding Basch's bones, like fire through his veins.

Kimberly clapped him on the shoulder, drawing back. Somehow, the distance did not lessen the feeling. "And now, sleep. I don't want to hear your answer for at least three days."

Basch nodded, swallowing. "Yes, sir."

\-----------------------

He didn't need three days to make up his mind.

He instead used those days to write and rewrite a letter to his mother, to tell his friends among the white mages and the Landisser ranks that he was leaving. To fight with Noah, who himself had just been promoted. They fought like brothers, homing in on each others' weaknesses with precision born of many years of practice. In the end, their last words were cold as they parted ways in a chill autumn dawn, Noah leaving for the northern front and Basch crossing for the last time over into the Flames' camp.

As he walked the frost-rimed road, Basch found himself irrationally glad that they had fought. It was a tie severed. Perhaps bloodily and painfully, but still...they were apart now, separate, as they never had been before. They could no longer hold each other up, but at least they would no longer hold each other back.

Basch walked through the waking camp and was unsurprised to find a light burning in the command tent, brighter than the washed-out dawnlight.

Kimberly looked up from the maps in front of him, and smiled, "I thought I might see you today." He glanced pointedly at Basch's pack. "Need I even ask?"

"I doubt it, sir," Basch said.

"Good." Kimberly pointed to one of the small travel desks. "Have a seat over there. Make yourself well and comfortable. When Archer gets back, he's going to have a truly staggering amount of paperwork for you to fill out. And then...." The Captain looked at him as he had three nights before, gauging and weighing. It still warmed Basch's bones, though it no longer made him want to look away. "Then I believe it's time for you to go meet your automail mechanic."

Ed had told him that getting automail fitted the first time was excruciatingly painful. "Yes, sir. I'm looking forward to it," Basch said, and found that it was nothing but the truth.


End file.
